


send us to perfect places

by nap_princess



Series: red-headed children of the sea [2]
Category: Disney - All Media Types, Frozen (2013)
Genre: Adult fiction be like 'im bored let's get divorced!, Angst, Arranged (read as 'forced') marriage AU, Bad Ending, Car-owning Hans is my aesthetic, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Gen, I can't explain myself, I know what the summary sounds like but I write tragedies not sins, I wrote this fic for me but y'all can read it if you want, I'm ... sorry, I've been searching my whole life to find my own place, Lottie is a Disney princess and you can't change my mind, Man I really like the word 'really' in this fic, Modern AU, Oh and im jumping on the bandwagon that Adgarr is a bad dad, Rain, Rich Kids Club AU, Trees, Vroom vroom bitch, dead dove do not eat, everyone. needs. therapy, fever-me wants to talk about tradition and money and the environment, i have emotional politics to talk about, my fever brain is like 'speak even if you make no sense' and I’m doing that, sprinkles angst on fic like that salt meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 18:56:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20068930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nap_princess/pseuds/nap_princess
Summary: And he laughs, maybe to get on her good side. Maybe so she's comfortable to let him know what she has and what she lacks. He's clever, he knows what to talk about and what not to– HansElsa(-ish), Rich Kids Club AU





	send us to perfect places

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [perfect places](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/503269) by Lorde. 
  * Inspired by [You and The Rest](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/503272) by gustin puckerman. 
  * Inspired by [tumblr post](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/503275) by astrotheology. 
  * Inspired by [The Great Gatsby](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/503278) by F. Scott Fitzgerald. 
  * Inspired by [A World Alone](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/503281) by Lorde. 
  * Inspired by [A Frozen Heart (tropes)](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/503284) by Elizabeth Rudnick. 

> Notes 1: Happy one year Helsa-dedication anniversary to me for starting fanfics about this train wreck angst ship and still doing it. Blessed be, a true miracle. But, just like all things I have invested a one year interest in, it dwindles after exactly 365 days later, I wish I could make this fact up but I know myself. Catch you on the other side – I'll be concentrating on Hans friendships and other Hans ships from now on. 
> 
> I wouldn’t quit liking the idea of HansElsa, I really like their angst, but I'm demoting HansElsa to friends. I really can’t see them as anything else. I'm noticing in my drafts that I really like writing Elsa as aro/ace and HansAnna is what I'm mostly writing now. So.
> 
> But, I will finish **white knight syndrome** before 2019 ends. I want to finish this fic and I’m very pro about leaving toxic environments, which is what **white knight syndrome**’s whole premise is about. Most of my HansElsa fics is about one of them leaving, so this fic might be something new?
> 
> Notes 2: I still like the idea of teas and cakes and well-dressed people. Have you ever seen someone eat ribs with a fork and knife cleanly? I have, I was at lunch with a friend and I just thought, ‘I’m gonna stare at you eat because that shit is impressive', I'm easily impressed. I guess I'm still clutching onto the idea of **You and The Rest** without touching **white knight syndrome**. I should be writing it, it's finally Summer and I have time, but I've just been doing other things like reading and going to events with people from Church and avoiding the heat. Let me fancy rich people who can't afford happiness the same way they can afford gin.
> 
> This fic is strung-together snippets from **white knight syndrome** that didn’t make it; with a splash of tradition views, jabs about capitalism and views on the environment because fever-me can’t stop thinking about how much I love trees and the rain.
> 
> Or, alternatively: Hans and Elsa have to wear a get-along shirt but the shirt is in a form of a forced engagement, but nobody falls in love and they're actually okay friends so they hang out a lot and bitch about the shitty situation to each other.
> 
> But, it's funny because the one fic where they don't like each other romantically, I put a ring on it.

**send us to perfect places**

* * *

If you must mourn, don't do it alone

– **Keaton Henson** , _ You _

…

While I figure out these rules of love and pretend I've never lost, but I lost from the start

– **Razorlight** , _ You and the Rest_

…

All of our heroes fading, now I can't stand to be alone, let's go to perfect places

– **Lorde** , _Perfect Places_

…

And I hope she'll be a fool. That's the best thing a girl in this world can be. A beautiful, little fool.

– **Daisy Buchanan**, _The Great Gatsby_

* * *

* * *

Elsa _should_ be sitting at the main table, with her parents and the hosts of this engagement and _her fiancé_. But she had declined on the knowledge that the air around her would be constraining – filled with strict manners and thick passive-aggressive replies.

So she sat away; far enough to _breathe_ but near enough to observe. Of course, she didn't sit alone. She was with her sister, Anna, and a familiar face.

Lady Luck is still shining down on Elsa despite everything else feeling like a disaster. Not all the elites tolerate one another, smaller social circles exist, but the event is 'important' and Eli (Big Daddy) La Bouf is likeable, so therefore, Charlotte ("Forget the formalities, sugar, call me 'Lottie'!") is here.

"So, which one is your fiancé?" Lottie asks; her voice is full of money; never knowing want, always having, well-provided and well-educated.

Anna's turquoise eyes lift from a near-by butler to Elsa.

Elsa chews on the bottom of her lip. "Um,"

Her blue eyes watch the butler serving them. He's taking his time, using a tea strainer while pouring her drink and then asking if she wanted any sugars. It's … polite, but it also feels like she's being eavesdropped and watched by the Westergaard staff.

Elsa knows she may be acting ‘selfish’, but it's not like she's overreacting or anything. It's not like she's decided to run away as an act of rebellion, leaving Anna to take over their parents’ empire. Elsa just didn't want to marry a stranger, it's a reasonable response to stay away.

The event had been planned for so long – but the official news came in an old fashion invitation card that showed nothing more than how rich of an individual the sender must be.

Peeking from the centre plate stacked high with mini cakes, Elsa tries not to look at the main table.

"I – I'm not sure." Elsa replies. With her napkin folded in her lap, she feels constraint by etiquette. She can't even get up and grab her own serving – deserts of Victoria sponge cake, chocolates and scones.

"You don't know what he looks like?” Lottie gaps.

Anna's brow furrows like she feels sorry for her big sister. 'It's not your fault,' She seems to say.

Elsa doesn't answer at first. She takes a moment to conceal; the last thing she wants is to show any enmity. Though, it proves to be a difficult task. She despises these stuffy parties that she's obligated to attend as an heiress and the oldest daughter of Adgarr and Iduna Arendelle. She hates it even more that she's bound by rules to not show her true self when surrounded by the reasonable wealthy.

"I don't know what he looks like, no." Elsa finally answers, then she clears her throat and confesses, "I don't know much about the Westergaard sons, actually. I can't tell who's who," Not that anyone can blame her, a majority of the family consists of redheaded men so they all looked alike to her. "Can you tell them apart, Lottie?"

Lottie's face lit up. "Oh, honey, I can do more than just tell them apart. I can tell you a few things about 'em."

Well, someone did their homework.

Anna claps her hands together in excitement. "Tell us."

The three eyed the young men at the table.

"So I'll divide the possibility of who may be your potential fiancé into three." Lottie says. "First, the one on the right, who's wearing glasses and has a book occupying his time." Elsa and Anna turn their gaze to the older looking man blinking slowly at his pages, not really listening to the chatter of the table. "Then, the two in the middle." The sisters stared at the odd pair who sat grinning at each other. "And lastly, the one on the left." The last Westergaard son seemed like one only who cared about the conversation, rolling his chin in his palm, smirking like he knows something his family doesn't.

"Well, they're all good looking." Anna comments. "Like, they're gorgeous."

"Very." Lottie agrees.

Elsa won't argue on that. Though, she thinks it's too hot for any of the Westergaard men to be dressed in their Sunday best – with their three-piece suits and polished shoes. Not that Elsa can complain, most people here are dressed to the nines; silks from France and cotton from Egypt; designer, but most likely personally tailored. However, she swears the bachelors could throw a vest over an obnoxiously loud, horribly printed Hawaii shirt and still make it work.

Lottie nods her head to the bespectacled redhead on the right. "That's Lars. He's _deeply_ into history, you can ask him anything about the topic and he'll give you the correct answer. But, ask at your own risk, he'll give you a very detailed explanation, he'll ramble for hours. It's very easy to lose track of time with him – but, he's much too old for you, he's the third oldest, and he's already _unhappily married_ to Lady Helga, so I don't know why he's here. Maybe for moral support, but he's definitely not your fiancé."

Elsa doesn’t comment on the ‘unhappily married’ part but she does nod at the statement, glad she's not going to be wedded to an older man.

"Those two sittin' in the middle –" Lottie gestures to the grinning duo. "– those are the twins."

"Wait, they're twins?" Anna gaps.

"Paternal. Rudi on the right and Runo on the left."

"Runo's the one with blonde hair?"

"Yeah, he really stands out among the sea of redheads, doesn't he?" Lottie comments.

"He's really tall," Anna comments but not in a swooning way. "It's almost freaky, like he has the height of a tree."

"_Anna_." Elsa warns.

"What?! I'm just _saying_. I'm looking out for you." Anna states, trying to reassure the blonde.

"I hope you're not engaged to one of 'em. They're trouble, best not get involved." Lottie sniffs then turns to the last redhead. "And that's –"

"Johannes?" Elsa guesses.

"Very good. Is he …?"

"I, yeah, he's my fiancé. Papa told me his name."

"I thought his name was 'John'," Anna inquires.

Elsa shakes her blonde head. "You got the first letter right, but it's 'Johannes',"

“Do you know anythin' else about him, love?” Lottie asks.

“No. Not really.” Elsa replies.

Lottie smiles, and something about Lottie’s expression just said ‘I have hot gossip’.

"Oh, stop teasing," Anna elbows Lottie slightly. "I know you want to tell us."

“Darlin', I want to do more than tell you, I want to shout out the news. There's so much to say about him.”

For some reason, that didn't settle well with Elsa. "Should we really be talking so openly about this?"

"Should we whisper instead?" Anna asks.

"That's not what I –"

Lottie nods then lowers her voice and Anna scooted forward, they meet in the middle. Elsa briefly looks at the butler now missing by their side then leans forward too.

"Johannes is a curious one." Lottie says around her teacup. "He's handsome as the rest of his brothers, but he's more than just a good looking face. I heard he's very charming; the kind of person who could talk you through getting stabbed." What? "Of course, he wasn't smooth enough to keep his previous fiancée."

"_Previous_ fiancée?" Elsa repeats.

Lottie nods with vigour. "Y'all remember Aurora?"

"Oh my God," Anna breathes. "John's the guy Aurora left for Phillip?"

Elsa didn't even bother correcting her sister. Elsa thinks about herself instead; with her luck, _of course_, there's news surrounding _him_; the man she could possibly marry.

And – Aurora? She has a tittle for herself, the word 'beauty' is in it. Not that it should be argued, with Aurora's beautiful blonde curls and her suiting any colour she wears, whether it is pink or blue or green. Elsa can't believe Aurora almost became engaged to Johannes Westergaard before she fell for Philip whose dimples are as deep as a corn maze.

"Yes, Johannes is Aurora's ex-fiancée." Lottie says. "They looked very cute together. I would say I'm surprised he agreed to marry after the scandal, but then again, Lady Westergaard pulled a few strings so the news would be swept under the rug so quickly. It happened maybe a year ago, right, Anna dear?"

Anna nods. "I heard it from Punzie."

Elsa didn't know what to say. How can she add anything to the conversation? So she chooses not too, sipping her tea while Lottie and Anna banter, swapping more info and trading where their sources came from.

Her tea tasted of strawberry and kiwi (perhaps?), and when Elsa had asked what the tea was called, the answer was 'Summer Breeze' – which made her scoff. She wishes there was a breeze. She feels herself melting like the _Wicked Witch of the West_.

Elsa didn't know what else to do after the conversation falls back to the topic of Aurora, so she looks forward, and she regrets it immediately because she catches Lady Westergaard glimpsing at her. Elsa can only stare at the older woman in return; worn eyes, flushed face from either the heat or from drinks, her long hair as bright as maple leaves, pulled into an elegant style, then –

"Miss," A butler says, forcing Elsa to look away. "The young master; he's waiting for you at the balcony of the first floor."

"O – Oh." Is all Elsa manages as she rises from the table.

Anna and Lottie stops talking, then Anna reaches out, "Can I come?"

The butler shakes his head. "The order is for this to be a private conversation."

"It's okay, Anna." Elsa offers a weak smile then listens to the butler's directions.

As she follows the rules, Elsa wonders why her fiancé didn't just approach her himself. If he was going to the mansion, he would have passed her on the way anyway. She can't help but wonder, does he hate the unbearable setting as much as her?

…

Going up the spiral staircase just added a dramatic flair to it all. This is clearly a set-up to build up anticipation. She is nervous enough and this strange isolated meeting made the stone in her stomach sit even more uncomfortably as she hikes up the hem of her long dress.

There is a brief moment where Elsa is convinced she's lost and needs to double back, until she reaches a pair of open double doors and sees a flash of white.

It’s _him_ – the charismatic one. But he could also be the crazy one.

_Great, I get the maniac who's okay with murder._ Elsa scowls when she remembers Lottie's words, but approaches him nonetheless.

His back is towards her, and he's leaning over the balcony, looking at the people below them. She's standing, slightly pushed back in an angle where she can admire the planes of his shoulders and his profile. She's looking at him and he's looking at everybody else.

Her pale hands reach out, finding them clinging onto metal. She just stares at her hands on the railing because there's _nothing else to do_. Nothing but to fix her gaze on her red painted nails, she finds herself frowning at them. Red never did fit her well.

(She wishes she was wearing her gloves.)

And, suddenly, she's aware of how long her loose hair is, how it tosses over her shoulder in an irritating way and tickles her elbows. She's also aware of the little attention he's giving her. And to think she got all dressed up, all pretty, just for nothing.

"Are you Johannes?" She finally asks after seconds of silence.

"Hans." He says simply.

Elsa didn't know if that was a 'yes' or a 'no'. She once met a pair of brothers, the oldest named 'James' and the youngest 'Jim' – it was essentially the same meaning but apparently, their mother wanted to recycle the name.

She wants a clear answer. He doesn’t really make sense. So she waits, and he doesn’t once look her way.

_Well, someone’s rude._ Elsa can’t help but think because, wasn't he supposed to be charming?

Standing by his side, she stares at his face, and even though he doesn't say a word to her, even without him saying anything, she thinks he's enough of a conversation.

"If we're not doing anything, then I'm going back down.” She says and doesn't know why it sounds like a threat. Most people don't threaten their future spouses.

“We’re doing something.” He answers.

_Is ignoring me ‘doing something'?_ Elsa thinks, but asks, “And what exactly is that?”

Slowly, ever so slowly, he takes his sweet time, knowing she would never leave him so impolitely. He seems like the type of person you don't want to anger, instead the type you want to make proud. She looks over at the slow turn of his body, his broad shoulders and bobbing Adam's apple and strong jaw.

"We're people watching." He says like that itself is an explanation.

_No, you are. I'm just watching you._ Elsa thinks and feels the need to tuck a curl of blonde hair behind her ear.

Finally, he faces her fully; giving Elsa that small glimmer, a tiny bit of spotlight. His emerald eyes stone.

“And what do you see now?” She asks, feeling the heat of his stare.

"Now?" He says. A leering smirk stays on his lips. "Just you."

* * *

It was a passing storm that rained bullets and tossed wind with ease; a force of nature that was so powerful that most would run from it, but all Elsa wanted to do was admire it. It was the closest thing to cooling off in the Summer, it was the closest thing to snow too. And it made her feel weightless.

"You look excited." Hans comments, making her turn her gaze away from the scene.

Elsa eyes him. He has cheekbones that are sharp enough to cut out a girl's heart and she expects him to have a well-practised sneer playing on his lips like the other day.

They're eating dinner a table away from their families, mostly for a small hint of privacy to converse; not that Elsa wanted to speak to him. The both of them haven’t spoken much to anyone there, barely with each other.

So they eat neatly with forks and knives, leaving no trace of sauce on the corner of mouths or scrapes under fingernails. She won't lie, it's very impressive how he eats ribs without being messy, like he knows how to cover up well, she chose the steak to be safe.

But, that small skill isn't enough. Elsa doesn't want to spend any time with him. But she's _here_ and he's _here_ and these events are for them to get to know each other, aren't they?

"I'm starting to think you prayed for a flood or something. I wouldn't blame you, you know?" He drawls on.

She makes a face, she doesn't know how to answer. Why would he say such a thing? Does he want out as much as her? Is that why he had acted so rudely during their first meeting? Is he still in love with Aurora?

"I,” She swallows. “I just like the rain. It’s cooling in the Summer heat.”

He regards her, "Enough to consider going out in this rain?"

"No." Elsa wrinkles her nose. "No, I'm not a maniac. My parents and sister will get worried and I'll likely catch a cold."

He raises a brow like he expected her to say something else, maybe about the rain ruining her make-up or her dress or her hair. “You surprise me.”

“That’s easy to do when we don’t know each other.” She answers.

“Do you want to get to know me?” Hans asks.

She doesn't even pause to consider him. Her blue eyes reflect the colour of the coldest part of the ocean. “No, not really.”

* * *

"Another party? Elsa, I'm all pooped out." Anna exasperates, falling dramatically on the couch, head hanging off.

Elsa can almost consider it funny since her extroverted younger sister usually welcomes social events.

"Don't the people of The Southern Isles take breaks? It's like _The Great Gatsby_ every day, but less wild and filled with boring old people who keep asking me on my opinion of politics and stocks and bonds. I –" Anna shudders at the thought of speaking about those topics again. "I can't handle any more conversations like that. I, I'm sorry, Elsa, but can I take a rain check? Please? I'm really tired." Anna begs.

And it's not like Elsa would refuse her sister's request. It's understandable, Anna's been joining Elsa and their parents to trips to The Southern Isles for a month now. There were three to four events a week, and to be honest, Elsa hasn’t gotten anywhere with Hans. Aside from their first meeting and that one dinner, Elsa’s been ignoring him and clinging to either Anna or Lottie. Most of the time, Anna.

“No, I understand." Elsa says, though she dreads the idea of attending the events without her favourite person. "You rest, Anna. You should take a week off, go see Punzie or do something with your own time.”

"Are you sure?"

Elsa's hand bundles her skirt. "Yes." She knows she can't cling onto Anna forever. Anna was bound to grow exhausted of the events and parties, and Elsa guesses she has to do some things alone. "I'm sure."

“I’m really sorry.”

“I’ll be fine.”

.

.

.

The Summer months really take a hold of the mind; focusing on sunscreen, bathing suits and sandy beaches. Hans wishes he was one of them, but he's not. And all he can do is ask the world to pause for a second and consider _him_; consider what he’s gotten himself into.

He walks among snakes in lover's skin. It’s fitting, considering the layout of the Westergaard Manor and the visiting guests. The first thought that enters a wandering guest's mind would be that the building is a slithering serpent. A giant, black monster. A palace made of hard stone and rocks.

And yet, they still venture in.

For what? To attend one of his mother's stupid, fancy parties. _The type _where a part of their wide, grassy lawn is propped with white tents and decorated with tables and chairs that match. There would be a small orchestra tucked away, playing classical music all day. Cakes and teas and alcoholic beverages with mints and strawberries would be served. Guests would arrive in suits and dresses, heels and polished shoes; they'd talk about _the lovely flowers in the garden _and _business_ and _each other._

It was _boring_.

It was _sickening._

He hated it, though, he enjoyed that he was wealthy enough to get away with most things – like gathering those he liked and stating they had other engagements to attend once they’ve fulfilled their roles.

The idea of the event was to show up; throw in a few smiles at the ladies and lords, the handsome men and beautiful women, the young and eligible; have small talk with those who were similar to him in age _but not in life_, and then – leave. If he was alone, then shoes off, get roaring drunk, and find himself _somewhere_ in the rose garden among the neatly cut grass and thorns a few hours later.

But then, something _unexpected_ happened. Not that he should have been shocked – really, since when has his life ever made sense? – but it happened, and therefore, here he was, _shocked_.

_She_ catches his eye; alone, cold and self-involved, with hands that are good at making but cursed because they do not know where to start.

He distinctly remembers his lips curling into a snarl that disguised itself as a smile and he swore, if anyone actually looked him in the eyes, they would have noticed it was brimming with displeasure.

The air is too sweet-smelling, the roses are at fault for that. And then –

“Has anyone ever told you that you look stunning?" Hans tells her.

Elsa jumps, then turns. “Oh, Hans, it’s you.”

“Are you surprised that I’m here?”

“No, it’s your party.”

“My mother’s actually.” Hans corrects her, enmity still lingering.

Elsa doesn’t comment on that fact. She wraps her arms around her elbows, almost like she’s hugging herself. “What were you saying earlier?”

Hans asks back, “Were you daydreaming?”

“What else is there to do here?”

“Talk.” He suggests, following her gaze to the endless stretch of green and people. He likes the view, but not getting involved.

“Well, I’m doing just that with you, aren’t I? Talking?” She asks.

This causes his smile to turn genuine. He shakes his head.

“So – what was it?” She prods.

“Oh, right.” Hans blinks. “I was saying how stunning you looked.”

Elsa faces him, eyebrows knitted together. "You **must **be _joking_,"

"No, I'm quite serious."

"I –" Something – an expression, maybe? – in her eyes flashed. "I'm having _the worst day_.” Elsa confesses. “I feel like I'm going to explode. I don't know how you can stand here and tell me I look _pretty_ when I feel like having a tantrum."

"A total meltdown?" He asks, resisting the urge to chuckle.

She stares at her gloves, the creation of hundreds of thousands of insects, a life work. Then, she sucks on the inside of her cheek. "I'm ready to fight God himself."

"You're _that angry_?"

"Yes."

The corner of his lips curve upwards, he’s ready to laugh. He says, "_Amazing_."

Her lovely expression sours. "How?" Her voice is edged with annoyance. "Can't you tell how irritated I am?"

"Well, you don't look all that bothered. Honestly, I wouldn't have known if you didn't tell me. I'm not a mind reader, Elsa."

She looks at her shoes, heels sinking into the grassy ground. "I don't think anyone notices. I recall a moment where I was in the middle of leaving and an auntie came up and hugged me. I was genuinely contemplating on screaming right there and then."

He eyes her, attempting to count the freckles on her pale face. He wanted to say 'That doesn't sound very lady-like' and 'Did anyone ever teach you to control your emotions in a healthy manner?' but he only hums in response.

"Something must be wrong with my face." She concludes. "I feel like nobody takes me seriously because of how 'stunning' I look. People often think I'm a pretty face and nothing else."

"There must be some benefits? Gifts from people who fancy you." He says nonchalantly, adding a shrug.

"People who fancy me should leave me alone."

He grins, he likes her snark. "I see you're not a big fan."

"Can't really be when they care so little about my feelings." She tells him. “But, you don’t really care about that, do you? I mean, you agreed to our engagement. It's not like you're obeying the rules of keeping far away either.”

“You looked lonely, standing by yourself.” He lies.

“Well, I’m not lonely. I’m just upset and I don’t want to bother or burden anyone.” Elsa sighs. “But, thank you, I guess, for checking up on me.”

Hans offers her a small smile.

“You …” Elsa says slowly, licking her lips. “You gave me a compliment earlier, but you're not trying very hard to charm me.”

“No, I’m not. I’m being myself I suppose.” His statement made her raise an eyebrow. “Would you like me to?”

“To what?” She asks.

“Charm you.”

“I’d rather you not. But, I do appreciate you making an effort to speak to me, so I can’t get too angry with you about that.”

Hans nods slightly, takes a moment to fold his gloved hands behind his back. “Tell you what,” He speaks suddenly. “The next time you feel like running away, just pull me aside, it’s my house, I have cars. I can take you anywhere you like, I’ll send you to perfect places.”

“You would do that?” She asks.

“Sure.”

“Why? Is it an obligation as my fiancé?”

“No. Not really, you just seem as miserable as me. I would like to escape too.”

Elsa blinks, hands loosening slightly. “... What?”

"I mean, this whole business engagement is a set-up. It's because Mother doesn't have any hope for my brothers and I. I thought I would be last." He chuckles, almost darkly. "I'm usually always last. But Mother thinks the twins are a bigger lost causes than I am. They're much too chaotic. Plus, I don't think there's a possible way to separate the two. So –" He inhales deeply. "You're stuck with me."

"You …" She pauses. "You don't want this either, do you?"

"No. No, I don't. I think this whole 'arrange marriage deal to merge two companies' is pretty stupid. They could just merge our businesses without the marriage, but I guess my family needs insurance in case a simple business deal doesn't cut it."

Her blue eyes slant and suddenly her vision fills with hope. She doesn't know how he manages to make her feel this way. It should be a sickeningly feeling.

“Tell me about yourself.” She says.

* * *

He wanted to talk to her, oh-so very much. But Lottie's demand for attention was the type that left little to no space. There is never a chance for group conversations when Lottie is involved, just private conversions.

"Elsa," Hans says, finally finding an opening.

Elsa doesn't perks up, not the same way Lottie does. Instead, she swings her head and asks, "Yes?"

A part of him doesn't want her to feel left out by being a listener, just standing there, all quiet. "After you’re done talking, find me." He says and his tone is something like a personal promise.

“We’re almost done, darling’, she’ll be right there.” Lottie answers for Elsa.

Elsa nods; only watching, never speaking, and Hans merges into the crowd of finely dressed elites.

As soon as the redhead is out of sight, Lottie lowers her heart-shaped sunglasses; they're big, pink and speaks_ everything _about her. Despite some differences, Elsa genuinely enjoys Lottie’s company, even if the Southern Belle is a little too self-involved. At least, Lottie has a personality, most of the ladies here are nothing more but nice smelling perfumes and smoothly applied make-up.

“Do you fancy him?” Lottie asks.

It takes a moment for Elsa to realise Lottie is talking to her.

“Oh, um –” Elsa says and it feels like she’s wasting words.

She doesn't think she likes Hans _that way_, she hasn’t talked to him that much, but she is getting to know him. Hans is … He doesn't give her butterflies in her stomach. He’s never made her laugh. And, isn't the man of your dreams supposed to make you happy? Then again, maybe that's why these sorts of men are referred to as 'dream man', it's all a fantasy.

“We haven’t been acquainted for very long.” Elsa answers.

It’s not like Hans hasn’t told Elsa things about himself, he has. Loads of things. And when he did, she thought, _At least, Hans isn't dull, _because she did get worried. After Lottie’s warning about the brother who was a historian, how can she not be?

It was pure luck that Hans is more than just money, she convinced herself. He has interests. Hobbies. Of sailing and horseback riding. Of fencing and some form of dance. She can't remember it now; might have been tap. Maybe even a passion for ballroom dancing. She doubts it's ballet, but not entirely.

Lottie scrunches her button nose then speaks, "As someone who doesn't exclude herself from any narrative, I'd like a bit more insight on where this will go. Elsa, sugar, you'll keep me updated, won't you?"

Elsa raises a brow. She and Lottie look so alike – blonde hair, blue eyes, but they are _so different_. “Is my life a soap opera to you?”

“No, but it’s juicier than mine.” Lottie replies, now tipping her cup. “You’ll continue talkin’ to him, won’t you?”

“Um, I don’t know. Maybe.” Elsa answers with uncertainty.

To be honest, Elsa doesn’t like the suspense of their little get-to-knows, not like how Lottie does. But, Elsa guesses she understands Lottie’s interest. From what Elsa has observed, Hans is some of the things people claim he is. He’s charismatic, ambitious and handsome to the point where she feels shy, but he’s also more than that.

"I think everyone’s making too much of a fuss about him.” Elsa admits. “He’s not all that bad."

"He isn't?"

"I mean –” Elsa stumbles on her words. “How bad can he be?"

“Famous last words.” Lottie hums, ending the polite chat.

...

When Elsa separates herself from Lottie, she finds Hans; surrounded by a small circle of other redheads, two girls and one muscular boy. Are they … related? Or just friends?

Wordlessly, Elsa watches Hans place his chin on the top of a girl’s head and the young girl in pink didn't seem to mind, didn't even acknowledge it. Only continuing scrolling through her seashell-theme phone until she pauses, lifts her screen towards Hans and made the corners of his lips tug upwards.

'This meme is so you.' The girl mouths. Or, that’s what Elsa thinks she says.

From the spot she stood, Elsa can’t read Hans’ face that well. She only manages to see him chuckle. She wonders if she's making a mistake dancing in his storm.

“Elsa,” Hans’ voice drags her out of her intense thoughts. He detaches himself away from the girl in the pink dress and strolls forward, placing a hand on the small of Elsa’s back. “You said you wanted to get to know me, right? Come, let me introduce you to the best people here.”

...

He first introduces her to his friends.

But, Elsa prefers to say he has _a club_ where he just hangs out with other redheads, as if his brothers weren’t enough.

The girl in pink is Ariel, who Elsa is pretty sure had mild kleptomania, or is just a human version of a magpie. Elsa swears she saw Ariel steal a shiny fork.

Then there's Merida whose accent is thick. Not heavy, but it was an effort for Elsa to understand the Scottish girl. Merida was without a doubt, Hans’ best friend. They just emitted too much chaotic energy when together, enough to challenge the twins.

Then there is Hercules, Ariel’s cousin. He's ... a nice balance. Awkward to the trio's reckless and adventurous nature.

Elsa thought nothing of the meeting. Only simple pleasantries, that is, until Hans suggested they leave the event early. If Anna was here, Elsa would have invited her to come along.

Elsa half expects for Hans to go out with a bang. Maybe with a cigarette, taken out from the pocket of one of his brothers or out of the hands of a millionaire at the event. Maybe even a bottle of champagne without offering anything and saying nothing, just giving a slow smile and a wink.

But he does none of that, only guiding them with purpose. And no one stops them.

Hercules however, stays. Maybe to cover for them, maybe because he thinks the activity is sneaking out. Either way, he's much too timid.

They all pile up in one of Hans' nicer cars, puts the radio on and give their best impressions.

_"Aren't we overdressed?"_ Elsa had remembered asking after stepping out of the car and into a public parking lot.

_"Are we? Or are other people underdressed?"_ Came the reply.

Elsa wonders if Hans and his friends wanted everybody to know that they've been outclassed and outdone in every way. She supposes there's something powerful about being young and wealthy. Like an unstoppable force, like the rain when it pours. You just have to wait it out.

While on their spontaneous walk, Elsa had stayed back a few paces, wanting to drink up the view of Mother Nature – and Merida did too, waddling awkwardly in her too-tight-shimmery blue dress. Elsa almost wanted to offer Merida a helping hand.

"I'm dyin' in dis wretched crosset.” Merida is the first to speak up, gesturing to the fashion statement that made it hard to breathe, much less stroll. “How aren't cha moanin' 'bout those heels, Elsa?"

“I’m used to it.” Elsa answers.

Merida looks like she wants to vomit at the idea of normalising wearing heels, until Elsa speaks up.

"Does he fancy her?"

“Does _who_ fancy _who_?”

“Hans. Does he like Ariel?“ Elsa asks, briefly remembering Aurora then the accessories Hans would push into Ariel's palm – barrettes and charm bracelets and white gold that shone; the little bright things he buys for her.

Elsa hopes she doesn't get treated the same. It feels too much like being owned. She hopes for many things. She hopes he isn’t doing all this to make her jealous. She hopes he isn’t a tricksy bastard who plays chess games in her head.

"Those two together? Nah. Ariel's been engaged tae Eric since she was sixteen." Merida shakes her head, orange curls spilling over her shoulder. "What Hans and Ariel have is somethin’ like a brother-sister relationship. Ya'd think after havin’ so many siblings, they'd be sick to the stomach at the idea of havin’ another. I know I would, I have triplets brothers – they're wee devils. Such terrors. But Hans and Ariel, they’re surprisingly okay with each other. I think their ‘youngest child’ vibe really solidifies their friendship.”

“They’re both the youngest?”

“Aye. Hans has twelve brothers and Ariel has six sisters, it's ridiculous.”

“The more the merrier, right?” Elsa asks, expecting Merida to chuckle.

The Scottish girl only lowers her eyes, staring at the pathway of the park. “Maybe. I like the idea o' found family for Hans, better.”

Elsa blinks, looking at Hans and Ariel briefly then back to Merida. “Why is that?”

Merida pauses like she knew she shouldn't have said anything regarding the topic. But – "Look, dis isn't really a secret, and ya didn't hear dis from me, not specifically, but, none o' Hans' brother treats him like blood. They're dickheads." Merida says and Elsa cringes at the word used. "They're the worst kind. I've seen ‘em act, all o' ‘em are babes wearin' big boy pants. I can't even fathom how they've lived dis long. The Westergaard men are a handsome bunch, but most o' them are obnoxious people. So –" Merida's voice drops, it even softens a little as she stares at her friends who walk ahead. "So, it's really nice that Ariel admires Hans."

Elsa follows Merida's gaze. She will say, there was something special about watching Hans and Ariel. Like looking at an old painting when life is simple; cast with the undertones of Summer, long dresses and elegant silhouettes. Ariel had _Heelys_ in Hans' trunk and now the redhead girl's skating circles around Hans, the way her pink dress balloons behind her makes her look like a mermaid floating underwater.

“Ariel is really somethin’ out a fairy tale. She gives him hope, ya know? I guess that’s all Hans wants: a chance. He really wants tae be a good role model tae her. Like a good brother whom Ariel can look up tae, God forbid none o’ his brothers would let him be the best person he wants tae be."

Elsa holds her breathe, she can see the moment disappearing.

“Merida?”

“Aye?”

Elsa may as well shoot her shot. “What type of person is Hans?”

Merida lets out a laugh. “Now yer really askin’ a tough question, lassie. If ya know his true self, yer one lucky bastard."

Elsa gives Merida a 'what do you mean?' look.

"I don't even know if Hans has a real self. He changes dependin’ on his mood, the person he's talking tae – heck, I'd said even dependin’ on the weather. Sometimes I look at him and think 'who are ya?'," Merida says. "I don’t even know how I’m his best friend. He can be a cunnin' fox at times, just smart enough tae get out of a situation before it’s too late."

“Too late? Too late for what?” Elsa stares at Scottish girl beside her. Merida's brown eyeshadow looks messily applied now, probably melted by the heat, like smudged dirt rather than make-up on her eyelids.

“Ya know, before he’s exposed.” Merida shrugs. But in her blue dress, it seemed like a chore. “But, it’s not his fault. Not entirely. If ya really want tae look out for someone, look out for his family, they aren’t the greatest.”

Elsa wanted to stop walking entirely, pin-pricks of coldness shot up her arm. “Can you – Can you tell me more?”

“About his family? It’s not mah place tae say. It’s Hans' responsibility, that one. It’s somethin’ that took him awhile tae even tell me, but, time may not be on yer side. If yer curious 'bout the family yer ‘bout tae be joined tae for ever, ya best ask Hans before ya got a golden band 'round ya finger.”

“So I should ask him?” Elsa asks. “Now? Right now? Do you think it could ruin the day?”

“I mean, ya only known each other for less than a couple o’ months? But, Hans is already draggin’ ya out on our adventures. He seems quite comfortable enough. I dunno. Like I said, it’s not mah place tae decide on these things, but maybe if ya want …” Merida trails off slightly. “... start soft? Ask him ‘bout his brothers, it won’t be anythin’ suspicious, he has twelve of 'em, o’ course, ya gonna be curious 'bout the lot.”

“What should I ask: who’s his favourite brother?”

“Oh, yeah, that sounds like a good question, he only has one.” Merida smiles.

“Really? Out of twelve, only one?”

“They’re all rotten. Just tread lightly on the twins and the oldest, Caleb. Those three are the unholy trinity o' bad news.”

* * *

It's sort of ridiculous – the rules her parents have instilled in her as the oldest daughter. Not that she's ever jealous of Anna, Elsa could never be, she adores Anna all too much. But, she would be lying if she says she does not want the same freedom Anna has.

Being told to constantly be 'the responsible one' is very tiring; Elsa can never show the same level of emotion Anna has, never cry or fight back when insulted or even show she's upset in general. It's all about decorum.

So when Hans proposes picking her up from her house – palace, if anyone were to lay eyes on the beautiful architectural building – it was something new. But a good new. It wasn’t a gathering for a formal event or polite brunches or business dinners.

Elsa had agreed. She's not exactly making plans for tomorrow, she’s just trying to figure it all out.

“Why are you sitting at the back?” He asks. Hans' question causes roses to bloom on Elsa's cheeks.

Her hand stopped at the handle she was clutching onto. Elsa starts, “I’m –”

“No, you don’t have to apologise.” He tells her, emerald eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses.

“I, I do. I’m sorry, I just, I’m so used to having a driver and –”

“It’s okay, Elsa, you don’t have to explain yourself. You can sit at the back if you want to.”

“I,” She didn’t know if she wanted to sit at the back. Choices aren't usually given to her. But she’s here and _the door is open_, so – “Okay.”

But, even behind the protection of his fancy car, the glare of the sun is apparent.

"You don't have any sunglasses on you?" He says, noticing her squinty eyes.

Elsa touches her braided, blonde hair. "No." She sounds embarrassed for lacking.

"Here." He reaches over and snaps down the flap of the sunshade that should have been above her head, that is, if she were to sit there by his side. Moving with reflex, he slides the extra pair of branded sunglasses out and hands it to her.

Elsa takes it, puts it on. Oh great, it's rose-coloured, how ironic. Is this just a coincidence?

She turns to him, and suddenly, a question mounts on her tongue. Merida's words echo in her head. It's only them in the car, no one else is here. They're alone together. But, Elsa keeps the question to herself, like most things, she does not show her emotion.

Instead, she asks, "How do I look?" A part of her wants to add, 'Do I look like how you want me to be seen?'

Hans snorts, "You look golden."

* * *

A majority of the people invited are 'people who know him'; meaning, wives of his brothers, their crying children and family 'friends'. Also known as none of his favourite persons and everyone he wants to avoid.

He wants to escape, but there is a thunderstorm visiting the afternoon, loud and cracking but not unwelcome from the heat. It forces everyone inside the manor, away from the rose garden. And even with his urge to leave, the air of this event reads a little differently, so Hans knows he can’t venture far away. He is also certain that every space available in the manor will be filled with people he doesn’t want to smile at.

There is, however, one person he wishes to speak to. And when she arrives, he will act.

...

The smell of petrichor and the dwindling pitter-patter of rain comforts Elsa enough to sit by a slightly cracked open window.

Anna is with their parents, far away. And Elsa is alone with Hans.

He places his cup down, china clicking. The tea today is bitter, and adding too much sugar is terribly inadequate. He’s sitting in a way that invades her space. He has his arm behind the back of her chair. It isn't like he's touching her, but he’s _close_ and it makes her feel self-conscious, especially under watchful eyes.

"Don't you think it's much too crowded in here?" He asks her over the orchestra and chatter.

“I feel like I’m being watched.” She whispers.

He smiles, now tugging on her gloved wrist. She wishes he would just tug it off. She wants to free her hands. It's ridiculously hot and she's sweating.

“Let’s go.” He tells her.

Elsa looks up into his emerald eyes. There's this _madness_ dancing behind his expression as he stares at where her lips begin. Perhaps, he is thinking, trying to figure out who she is.

Then his hand is by her waist; she feels his fingers digging against the fabric of her dress and her ribs. Breathing suddenly becomes difficult. She wants to swat his hold away – but _doesn’t_.

"Where are we going?" She asks.

He tilts his head ever so slightly as if he wants to read her better, eyes concentrating. He's digging into her skull – and he smirks.

"I know the perfect place." He says.

Without Hercules here to cover for them, Mama will be worried, Papa will be disappointed and Anna will look for her, but –

That single sentence causes something in her chest to stir – a wave of happiness. A wave that causes her to forget high society’s rules and her constricting dress. She flutters her lashes and she's smiling _so hard, _she doesn't think she's ever been _this happy_ at a party.

“Take me there then.” She says.

Then, he guides her away.

.

.

.

The tree branches stretch so high that Elsa is convinced that they will never stop growing until the treetops touch the sky itself, and the leaves are as green as the grass and the trimmed hedges and his eyes.

She likes the simplicity of things between them. Though, she would never imagine herself like this, walking side by side with their paces matching; hands tucked into pockets or clasped, not touching. They’re in-proximity, near enough to bump into each other's shoulders if they wanted to. They're just talking without a care in the world.

Then – heavy rain.

And they’re hurrying under the continues shower. She gathers the length of her dress that falls too near to her ankles. They are dressed too much like royalty. Her ankles are now caked in mud and her laughter rumbles like the thunder above.

They rested underneath a trunk after they run out of breath. The rain had come down like bullets and they needed shelter – not that it would make a difference, they were soaked – but it was nice just letting the rain fall around them while they watched up close.

Elsa reaches forward, close enough to touch a low hanging tree branch and the moss and underside.

“Aren’t you cold?” Hans asks, looking at her like he was viewing at her through thick foliage. His white jacket does little to provide warmth.

Elsa pretends she isn't shivering from the howling winds and the seeping water. "The cold never bothered me anyway." She says.

And he laughs, maybe to get on her good side. Maybe so she's comfortable to let him know what she has and what she lacks. He's clever, he knows what to talk about and what not to.

Something in her would like to believe that _this is magic_. That this is _love_, even. But she's seen the movies. She's seen the way he looks at her, and it’s _not there._

Then his phone rings, he holds up a finger to shush her – like he just _knew_ how important phone calls are, and in their world, they are – a single phone call can determine _so much_; Elsa's sure she's seen a Governess cry during brunch while her phone was still pressed to her ear.

"Hello?" Hans spoke, putting on his 'phone voice', something Elsa can't help but notice. The switch in his tone is just so fascinating. As Hans listens, his eyebrows knit together and he runs his tongue on the tops of his teeth before closing his mouth in a firm line. "Yes, she's with me."

'Are we in trouble?' Elsa mouths but he only waves his hand to silence her.

"I understand. We'll be there in five minutes." He says to the caller on the other line then locks his phone in one move and turns his attention to her.

"Are we in trouble?" She repeats. "What's wrong?"

"I just got an earful." Hans says but he’s not frowning about it. “They've been looking for us for half an hour now.”

“Why? Are you telling me there’s a purpose to today’s event? That’s news to me.” Elsa states, making him grin.

“As much as it pains me to not joke about how today’s event is not just an excuse for my mother to sip wine, I must tell you, we have to get back to the manor."

“N – Now?”

He nods. “Now.”

"Looking like this?" She gaps, fists bunched against the wet fabric.

"I told Mother we would be back in five minutes."

Elsa’s face drops. "But, we're so far away."

"I guess we better run then,"

"What –"

He takes off running before she can even finish her words. She would have reacted strongly if he hadn't double back, and grinned broadly, like he couldn't wait to show the guests at the manor their rain-soaked appearance, like it would be such a delightful sight for all to see.

"Come on." He says, and there is that same madness twinkling behind his green eyes. "I'll race you."

She smiles before shoving him rather roughly to gain a head start. Laughing, she shouts, "Ladies first!"

.

.

.

"How are you running in heels?!"

.

.

.

"You're no match against me!"

.

.

.

He ended up losing by two seconds.

.

.

.

When they arrived, they were both soaked and cold and panting, but smiles were on their faces. She doesn't think she's ever been this rebellious – if you can even call taking a walk in the rain as rebellion, but it felt that way – _rebellious_ and _lawless_ and _free_.

* * *

It was an experience itself riding in a convertible. It was another to lie on one’s back while staring upwards.

The endless sky and bowing trees were the only thing in her vision. Her feet were propped up. It's been a while since she laid sprawled like this – no shoulders back, no good posture, no hands clasped.

"Are you enjoying yourself back there?" Hans' voice came from the driver's seat.

Elsa turns her gaze from the sky to the rear-view mirror and the reflection of his emerald eyes that's still staring at the road. The radio dulls as she concentrates on the redhead man.

"How did you know?" She asks.

"You were humming."

She smiles, it's been forever since she sang out loud. She doesn’t know what to think about this new possible life together. It could be graceless.

But then, a pang hits her.

"Hey, Hans?” Elsa calls out, with her voice unshaken, but nerves twisted. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

She pulls herself upright with her elbows and sits like how she’s raised. This is serious. To her, at least. “Out of all your brothers, who’s your favourite?

Hans doesn’t even hesitate. "Lars."

"Lars?" Elsa repeats and Hans nods.

"He's the kindest among all my brother. Intelligent too. I think he's the best out of everyone here. He deserves goodness. I hope life treats him well in the upcoming months. I'm about to have another niece or nephew because of him, he and his wife are expecting." Hans states.

Elsa blinks, remembering what Lottie told her about Lars and Lady Helga. "But, I thought they were unhappy together."

"Did I tell you that?" Hans stares at her through the mirror, like he's ready to scold himself for letting such a thing slip.

"No, I heard about it."

"Ah, so the rumours have caught up to you." He states. "You haven't been here very long either." He says it like he was expecting more time before the truth unfolded.

She looks at him, confusement written on her face. She's missing some context.

"You're right, they are unhappy together. Lars tries to get along with his wife, but it's clear that she's miserable no matter how hard he tries to be nice to her. And now that she's pregnant – well, no more wine for her."

Elsa stares at him, drinking in the news he’s brought to her before saying, "Do you think that will fix things?"

"Do I think _what_ will fix _what_?" He asks.

"Do you think the baby will fix their marriage?" She rephrases.

A picture tube lights up in his head. "Don't be foolish, Elsa, having children don't save marriages."

* * *

It was quiet and it was raining – for the second time that week – and there is no other way to describe the moment aside from the fact that there is _a calmness _she never knew she could possess but she did, and she really wanted to break the silence and thank him but didn't. The moment is too magical.

The windows are slightly rolled down, amplifying the sound of raindrops and sending a small chill up their spines but they left it that way. The sky is dark but comforting with the glow of street lights and lit up signs, the rain thudded lightly and the road sounded like it was washing away every imperfection in the world.

“So what do you think?” There is a squeeze in his voice.

“About?” She asks back.

“These Summer events our parents throw.” He says.

She could snigger unlady-like, this is all a set-up for the rich to 'get acquainted' when she knows all too well that it will lead to their unavoidable marriage. Businesses and people do not get anywhere without connections and promises of high hopes.

“Will you marry?” He continues like he read her mind.

She looks at him. His love does not make her head spin. “I,” She swallows. It feels like she’s ruining their friendship. “I don’t like the idea.”

“I understand, we’re in the same boat, you and I.” Hans tells her, temporary relief floods her lungs. Then Hans leans back, inhales, and says, “I’m going to tell you something.”

Elsa didn’t know what else to say, so she nods. “Okay.”

“I used to have fiancée before you. I don’t know if you know her – Aurora.”

Elsa's insides squeeze. She recalls the conversation about Aurora and Hans, and how she felt about the matter. She had even remembered how she reacted at that moment.

“I turned her away.” Hans says.

"You –” Her eyes widened. “You turned her away?”

"Yes. Mother tried to cover it up, she spread a rumour that Aurora chooses another."

Elsa can’t help but ponder about the reason behind it. Is he a perfectionist? Because if he is, she doesn't think she can do it. She can't be the perfect girl. He’s been so nice to her, so friendly, so charming, but, she can’t be something she’s not. She can’t feel something that isn’t there either.

Then he looks at her like he’s already reading her thoughts. “If you’re wondering why, it's because of who Aurora was. It’s nothing personal. Even you, Elsa. You're lovely, and it may seem like I’m some stuck up prude, but, I’m not.”

Elsa stares, words refusing to form in her mouth.

“We could –” Hans inhales deeply again. “We could find a way to end the engagement on polite terms." Hans says, and that was when Elsa was certain he was crazy. "Merida managed. She had three suitors. Their families worked things out and they're still friends to this day.”

"Sounds like a fairy tale." Elsa scrunches her nose.

"Oh yeah, complete with witches, magic and animals sidekicks." Hans adds sarcastically before stating, "But, no. I mean it. I’m not saying I can compete with Merida but I could probably call off _another _engagement. We're ... friends, aren't we? We get along, and we see eye to eye on this issue. I don't see why we can't sit our parents down and have a conversation."

“Papa won’t listen.” Elsa states knowingly.

"We need to try." He presses.

"Why?"

"Why?" Hans repeats, astounded that she isn't thinking about her own happiness in this matter.

“I mean, what would you get out of this?" She wants to know his reasons but she doesn’t want to sound desperate too. She does, however, want to uncover secrets about his family. Merida’s hinted it and Hans has mentioned it many times but, he’s not telling her.

"Nothing." Hans answers.

Thunder crashes and the rain falls harder. She will have to raise her voice.

Elsa asks, "You're saying calling off an engagement wouldn't benefit you at all?"

"Yes."

"Then what's your problem?" Elsa frowns.

"I don't have a problem."

"Really?" Just who are you, Hans? "Because you said the whole thing was stupid to begin with, and now it's like you're saying it's nothing, so, it feels like you're keeping secrets. Tell me the truth."

Hans pinches the bridge of his royal nose.

"I'm going to keep bothering you until you tell me." Elsa states, determined.

"I'm –" He sighs, loudly. "I'm allergic to staying true." He says this like it's the first thing he can think of.

Elsa pulls a face, leaning against her seat. "So you have commitment problems?"

"Something like that."

"You make it sound like you're a cheat or a two-faced liar." Elsa says, uneasy.

"I can be rather nasty when I choose to be." Hans admits.

Remembering what Merida had told her on how Hans just needs a chance, Elsa says, "Anyone can be too. But, you're choosing to tell me the truth, even if it sounds bad. So I appreciate that much."

He raises his brow at her proclamation.

She continues, "It's not rocket science. You choose who you become. It may take some work to be the fullest you – but you get there."

Hans stares at her for a moment, then – "Sounds like something my therapist would say."

Her eyebrows hike up. "You go to therapy too?"

"Should I start worrying about our future children if we don't end this engagement?"

"Don't talk like that." She hushes him harshly.

"It's not a joke. There's nothing wrong with seeing a therapist. I wish my whole family went. But, they don't, so." Hans shakes his head like he's banishing the statement.

Elsa wishes he didn't. She wants him to continue talking about his family but he won't.

"Anyway," He bristles. "If you must know, I have trouble telling the truth at times."

"So ... you _are _a two-faced liar?" She blanches.

"Yes and no. Like I said, I have trouble with commitment. I’ve had to pretend to be someone I’m not most of my life. I can’t be myself around anyone at all. If I think it's too much, I back out."

"Like this engagement?"

Slowly, he grins. "Ah, so you've caught on."

* * *

Elsa takes a hold of Merida's sleeve and drags the Scottish girl away from the crowd of the event.

"Whoa, lassie, what's going on?"

This joke is getting thin.

Elsa doesn’t want the entire conversation to be about her, so she says, “I’ve asked. I’ve asked Hans about his family but he won’t budge."

"Now, hold on." Merida starts.

"I can't. Please, Merida, I’m begging you, tell me about them. It’s been months and I don’t know who else to ask.”

Merida presses her lips together for a moment before speaking, “It’s not Hans’ fault, ya know?"

Elsa chews on the bottom of her lip.

"It's not his fault that he doesn't want tae tell ya. He doesn't want tae scare ya if dis whole thing does go through, but it looks like it's goin', huh?" Merida speculates. Then, after looking around, Merida tries to breathe as steadily as her dress lets her. "The Westergaards, they're … the abrasiveness type. Like I said, it's none o' Hans' fault. He had tae do it tae survive. Not once was he livin', Hans copies a lot o' what his family is tae make himself fit in. He hates it though. He hates it and he doesn't want tae be like 'em."

Elsa’s grasp on Merida’s sleeve loosens.

“His family is not the best. Absent Dad. His Mum hosts these events _every_ minute she can, it's like she's tryin' tae sell off her sons before they expire or somethin'. It's sad on Hans' part." Merida states and now there's this fierce glare in her blue eyes. "Sometimes, I think it's better if I just marry him myself tae get him away from all the mess, but he wouldn't have let me."

“Why?”

“Look 'round, Elsa, nobody married tae the men in dis family is happy. Their business is dyin’, the merge is a scam, they’re usin’ their sons like insurance because they know it’s a dead end. Lady Westergaard holds these events so the women can drink their sorrows away. It’s hurtful to see. They cope with their marriages tae neglectful husbands with wine. Ya don’t want tae be like them, do ya?”

The silent rage that filled Elsa was enough of an answer. Her blue eyes were brimming with anger and her red painted lips never looked less lovely. The glamour life is fake – all the sequins and glitter and confetti.

...

"I know."

"What?" Hans whirls around, surprised to see fury on Elsa's face.

"I know," She whispers more harshly. "Your family. I know your secret so you better tell me your side of the story before I throw my first public tantrum."

He stares at her, shocked. But he knows her anger is justified. "Okay." He says softly. "Okay, I'll tell you. Let's … sit down somewhere, shall we?"

Elsa nods. And Hans grabs a whole bottle of champagne, just like how she predicted he would when he first invited her to leave the Isles. They sit under the shade of a large orange tree, the sweet-smelling citrus is not enough to calm her nerves.

He passes the bottle to her. She takes it without much argument.

"My family," Hans starts. "We're not the greatest –" He searches for the right word. "– bunch. I almost said 'people' but I don't believe that myself. We’re what some may call ‘a dysfunctional family’. My parents don’t spend any time with their sons. My brothers are neanderthals who are too rowdy and neglectful, and their wives are sad. I don't know why guests even come to our events, all the men are stupid and all the women are miserable alcoholics."

She wants to tell him, ‘You're scaring me’ but he’s telling her the truth, and she would rather him not lie to her. So she keeps quiet, takes another gulp of alcohol and passes the bottle back to him.

“The truth is, I've seen the endless cycle, my brothers – most of them have been unhappily married off. Lars and Lady Helga – they're like us, the not so bad ones. But, that doesn't excuse the fact that they're together because of an arranged marriage, and the things people do because of that unhappiness is revolting.” A line forms on Hans’ lips. “Caleb for instant. He is horrible. He’s the eldest, but he’s such a bad example.”

There is a snarl behind Hans’ voice, a deep kind that made Elsa tense up without thinking. She's afraid he'd shatter the fragile glass in his hands.

“Caleb; he cheated on his wife and I, I think it wouldn’t have happened if the marriage wasn’t forced to begin with.” There is this rage behind his voice, like he wanted to yell. Then he clears his throat and says, “I blame arrange marriages for a lot of the miseries happening in this house. I do, but, I also believe in consequences from actions. I expected Caleb to at least think before he cheated. After what happened to Mother, I just thought that Caleb would have some decency, but that man is a fool. I don’t want to be like him, or Father. If I marry, I want it to be under my own terms.”

She reaches over, wanting to comfort him. "Hans?"

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I didn't want to stress you but, I – I’ll think of something, okay? I’ll hatch a plan.” It was a decidedly bad idea. "I'll save you."

Elsa presses her lips together. How can he say that when they're so close to failing? "And what do you think I should do if your plan fails?"

He looks at her, his eyes have never seemed more determined. "You run away."

She pauses. "Why are you trying so hard to save me?"

And as soon as the words left her mouth, she saw the expression he made, it stopped her in her tracks. It reminded her of glaring signs; it was just the way his eyes widen and how _this look _stayed frozen on his face. It was like he was reliving a moment, snapshots, then – a smile stretched on his lips and he shook his head twice before looking at the ground.

"I," He looks at her. "I'm not entirely sure. Maybe I want to be the hero for once."

.

.

.

And it's not like she didn't try – because she did. She tried her very best. Tried to do her part, promise him it would get better. He wasn't as bad as she thought; he wasn't 'the bad guy' and she wasn't 'the damsel in distress'.

They were normal, as normal as could be – humans. And she thought that was a good enough excuse to want. To wish. It was foolish, but she did just that. She wished.

It started with, "Papa, I wish to speak to you."

"About?"

"Hans."

"Who?"

"Johannes." She corrects herself and she caught the grin on her father's face, probably thinking how swimmingly she and Hans were getting along. And they were. In actuality, they were but – "I don't want to marry. I want – I want to call it off, p – please."

"You –" Her father's voice didn't soften or tremble. "You should," Marry him, that is. “You must, and _will_ do it." He states, firm and set. "There is no room for argument here."

She looks like she has to bite back a frown, even when alone in a room with her parent, she restrains herself from emotion. "He is a complete stranger, Papa. I don't – I don't love him." It takes her a great deal of strength to say the next part. But she says it without trembling. "I've never felt that way towards _anyone_."

Her father stares at her. "I know."

"You – You do? _How_?"

"Your therapist." Adgarr states like he didn't just breach her privacy. "It makes no difference if you don't feel romantically towards Johannes or the next person after him or the one after that. You _won't_ feel. You **don't**.” _You don't know what love is._

She watches her father's lips move and his mouth speak but he **can't** mean it. His words aren't real. He isn't either. He's dead and he's a ghost.

"I have **expectations** of you, Elsa. I want you to do _more_ than help the success of the business. I want you to have a family. I want you to be _normal_."

It makes her frown. No. More like forces the tugging of her lips. She wonders when her own father saw her as something other than human.

She suddenly remembers a passage she read not so long along –

**"** THERE’S a thing that happens as kids grow up, when they begin to realize that their parents and the adults around them are flawed and broken and making things up as they go, and sometimes make very real mistakes. Sometimes as grown-ups we find ways to forgive the adults that raised us for all the good and bad they did, and sometimes we cut them out of our lives forever. But there’s always that feeling of _betrayal_, with the realization that a trusted adult did actually cause us harm – and not just because they used their best judgment and tried their best to protect us and it wasn’t enough, but because they decided something else was more important than our well-being and meant it. **"**

She sees her enemy appearing – and it's him.

"I am normal, Papa!"

That is the first time she has ever raised her voice to her father. She didn’t think she _could_ do such a thing. She didn’t know that she even had _the ability_ to fight back, but she did. She shouted.

They were standing so close, not even three feet apart, but their voices were rising as if they were yelling at each other from the other side of the world because their hearts were distancing from one another. It was awful (and heart breaking).

In the midst of it all, her father turns his head sharply _away_ from her as if he couldn't stand the sight of her anger; then turns back and faces her like he wanted to double-check and make sure it wasn’t the trick of the eye.

_Accept it._ She thinks. _You did this. You made me angry. You made me feel._

.

.

.

"Elsa?" Anna's voice rings out in the well-lit hallway.

Elsa turns, shutting the door of her father's study. "A – Anna? How long have you been standing there?"

Anna doesn't answer, choosing to grab her sister by her arm and guides her away from the shut study room. "I need you to hear me out "

A shiver shot up Elsa's spine. So rarely is Anna this serious.

"Elsa, before you say anything – I know, okay? I know I shouldn't have eavesdropped, but I did. I've just been so worried and –" Anna turns, hurt on her face, like she's blaming herself. "I shouldn't have taken so many rainchecks. I should have been by your side during those stupid parties instead of enjoying days to myself. If only I had been more mature, then maybe Papa wouldn't have been so harsh on you. I – I didn't hear the first part of your conversation with Papa but then you started shouting and I – You –" Anna's freckled face twists. "You don't want to marry John, do you?"

Elsa stares wordlessly at Anna. She can't think. Can't register what's going on in her little sister's head.

"I know it's not my place." Anna starts. "But, I'm your sister and I love you, and as much as you enjoy John's company, I know you do, it's clear that you don't want to marry him – so, what if I –" Her turquoise eyes trails away. "What if I take your place instead?"

"What?"

"I mean, it's just business, right? This whole engagement thing is to merge our companies together. It's a big yikes if John gets two engagements turned down, talk about bad luck, so I'm thinking, what if? I'll – I'll act as your replacement. It's my duty, right? As a spare. It's my duty to fill in when things go bad."

"Anna –"

"I don't know what's going on between you and John. I mean, the other day – you came back from the rain together and you were grinning so widely, so he can't be _that bad. _He doesn't look like a bad guy, but you still want to call off this engagement so maybe – I don't know – maybe he's still in love with Aurora or something?"

"No. Anna, no. You don't understand."

"I – I don't, really." Anna admits. "I mean, it's a spontaneous idea." Anna says, her voice still with an edge, though, the statement had a hint of her usual self. "But, the Westegaards, they'll consider me, won't they? Even if Papa says 'no'. The Westegaards won't mind?"

Elsa stares at Anna for what seemed like forever. "They –" Her throat tightens. "They won't, but –"

"Then, I'll do it, Elsa."

"No, Anna, I can't let you."

"W – Why not? I –" Anna tries to argue, fresh tears spilling from her eyes.

Elsa's mind whirls. Flashes of Anna's future as a miserable Westergaard and alcoholic fills Elsa's mind. She wants to say so much but settles on ripping her arm away from Anna.

"Stay away!" Elsa says with a sudden sharpness that she didn't know she could manage.

"Elsa, wha –?"

"Stay away from the wedding, Anna. You – You'll say something, I know you will."

"Duh, Elsa, I've watched dramas. I'm going to object when that old guy says, 'Speak now or forever hold your peace',"

"I can't let you do that."

"Why not? You don't even like John! Elsa, please. _Please!_" Anna's hand stretches forward, trying to touch her sister, but Elsa inches away. "You _can't_ marry someone you don't love! Elsa, you just said –"

"Stay away, Anna. I'm trying to protect you."

* * *

"So, from what I've gathered," Hans says. "My mother thinks it's a good service to send her sons off to a new home because our side of the business is going bankrupt, and your father insists that you marry because he wants you to be 'normal'? Geez, it's like he's never heard of aromantic people before and –"

"I thought he was helping me." Elsa blurts out, close to sobbing. "I thought, with therapy, and him telling me how to feel or not feel was all an act of love. I thought – I, I was wrong."

"It sucks." Hans says. Not knowing how to comfort her. "It really sucks. Our family sucks, I – I'm sorry."

Through wet lashes, she says, "You don't have to apologise"

“No, I do. I should have told you sooner. Your sister, she tried to ... I ... I wouldn't wish it upon my greatest enemy."

.

.

.

They play at romance.

She's dressed in white and him in a tux, the golden bands around their fingers look hideous. They're dancing in the chapel for all to see; with his chin tucked on top of her head and her hands gripping him close, but it's all wrong. It's sad.

He's looking out for anyone who will storm up to them and her face is buried in his chest, concealing her tears. She can't do anything but hold him closer, arms encircling and embracing him while he does the same, only half-heartedly.

"I hate this." She whispers.

As she slow dances with him, holding him close and counting his heartbeat, she wonders why these people couldn’t just leave them alone. She wonders why they would want _this _forever, when she and Hans didn’t.

"Well, at least, you don't hate me." He whispers back.

She feels like this perfect Summer is eating her alive.

* * *

**end**

**Author's Note:**

> Notes 3:
> 
> My top three devotions –  
1\. Hans and angst/cars/money can't fix everything (the true OTP)  
2\. Tragic Elsa  
3\. Bad endings that somewhat follow canon
> 
> The Westergaards are so depressing, nobody marry into a family like this. Please. Please, I’m begging you, walk away.
> 
> Notes 4: It took me a fire, a fever, and a twelve hour plane ride to write this. I wish I wasn't serious. There was an arson attack on my favourite animation company, people died and I got so upset I developed a fever like some worried Victorian-era bitch. The sickness forced me stay cooped up for a week to heal. The heat was bad enough, but add that with grief? Oof. Like I would messages my friends but skip a few words in advance because my brain refused to function right. I eventually got sick of staying inside and decided I need to be 'one with nature' so I took a lot of walks in parks and gardens. I was just like "yesss" when it started raining and I just stood under trees like a maniac instead of taking shelter. Then I had to fly back home, and during that twelve hour plane right, fucking Frozen was one of the movies I could watch. And like the fake fan that I am – having only seen Frozen twice on the same day back in like 2013 – I thought, 'Fuck it, let's do it to refresh my memory. The second movie is coming out soon anyway.' And now, I can proudly say I've watched this movie three times in my life.
> 
> But, yeah, I wrote this fic during a fever. I mean, I make utterly no sense most of the time already but I need you to know not to trust this fic even more. I'm only posting it cause I had the motivation to finish it and I'm not letting that go – so.
> 
> You know how sometimes you can depict dreams? I had a dream that Satino Fontana gave me a pizza pan, for free, and my first instinct was to decide that; 'Wow, this right here? This is an act of true love. Romance is in the air.' Like, seriously, brain? I understand if he gave me pizza, a justifiable reason to think it was true love, but it was just an empty pan. Meaning I had to stick frozen pizza in the oven. Most people are afraid of microwaves, I'm deathly afraid of ovens. I mean, ovens are the stuff of fairy tale nightmares! Witches bake children in there! I am child-sized! What I got from this dream? You can't even trust Hans in his voice actor form, he was trying to lure me to death with the promise of pizza. My brain's just like, "You know the only man you really liked consistently for six years? He's trying to destroy you with pizza AND fire!"
> 
> Notes 5: Me, trying to think of modern Hans' interests like:  

> 
> Notes 6: Modern conversations I want between Hans and whoever is willing to tolerate his bullshit –  

> 
> Notes 7: Merida's speech is based on this tweet, and yeah, she's a lesbian, that's the reason she turned down those three suitors:  

> 
> – 1 August 2019


End file.
